Diabetes Training Camp - Something of a Review - Part 1

I'm starting this blog post with a vague title because I'm 100% certain I'll miss something critical. After a week filled to the brim with amazing experiences, real life comes hurtling at me immediately with 10 to 11 client meetings interspersed with 4 or 5 internal meetings and a video shoot this week. The fault of this is my own, as next week is a vacation week. Still, it's somewhat daunting, if exhilarating.

I've known about DTC for a few years, but was never able to get the stars to align until this year. Two years ago, I was chasing a Boston qualifying marathon time and was burning vacation days traveling for Team Type 1. Last year, I was interested, but had scheduled vacation the same week. This year, everything clicked.

My "job" at the camp was assistant coach in charge of running, choosing the routes and offering insights about the simplest of all sports. But secretly, I had agendas, too. I knew the camp would offer a variety of athletic experiences, and if anyone has ever become a one trick pony, it's me. I run. I don't stretch. I don't cross-train (unless I'm injured, and haven't been seriously in quite some time). The result, I suspect, is similar to if you see an old piano that has the ivory rubbed off of 15% of the the keys. It sounds good, but it's definitely not reaching its potential.

The camp also would have a full contingent of dieticians, medical staff and mental coaches. In terms of dieticians, I knew I could learn something. In terms of medical, I wasn't sure. In terms of mental, I like to think I am tough, but I also believe that if you're into ultras, having some new tricks in the bag isn't the worst thing.

I arrived at camp on Sunday for a half day of staff training, which for me had two basic purposes: get to the know the rest of the staff (60% were returning, 40% of us were new) and review bios of the campers so we knew what to expect.

The ice breakers were effective in getting conversation flowing, but at the same time, I could tell almost immediately they would be largely unnecessary. The people on this staff were bright. Very bright. As mentioned, most of them were experienced. Being a diabetic camp, half were diabetic. Simply put, there wasn't much need to find common ground, as it was abundant. It was just about making sure we were all aware of how close we were.

I clung a little closer that first day to the other sports coaches - head coach Rick Crawford and cycling coach bike fitter (and T1) Grant Curry. Rick's bio speaks for itself - he's a pro's pro, whose triathlon career included chasing seconds behind Scott Tinley. He's not a diabetic but has coached some of the best of them. As for Grant, he's turned a love of cycling into a bike fitting career. Both had been with DTC since the beginning, so I leaned on them to help me know what to expect.

I also talked a lot w/ Rob Powell, a near-PhD brought in for fitness testing. Simply put, I love that kind of crap and I was eager to learn about what that process would look like at this camp.

Quietly to myself I geeked out a bit about being on the same team as Lyndsay Riffe. If you're active in the diabetic community, you know about Lyndsay's accomplishments, and I was very much looking forward to working with her.

But even aside from the the diabetic celebrities, the team cohesiveness started immediately. I remember Dana bringing me a Diet Coke, probably 10 minutes after we'd met. I remember Lauri greeting me with a hug the moment we met.

After several hours of planning, the group headed to Iron Hill Brewery for a dinner. I sat beside mental coach Carrie Cheadle, and quizzed her about the minds of her ultra running clients. But even then, I remember thinking that this group was incredible and I wish I had the time to have a private dinner with each one of them.

But truth be told, even with all of that, I had drastically underestimated the effect the week would have on me. Though I'm a little ashamed to admit it, I remember Dr. Matt (who I'll cover in a follow-up post) saying that he'd like as many of us as possible to remain at camp through closing on Saturday and I remember thinking, "Well, we'll see. There's a race Saturday morning I had on my schedule that I was kind of looking forward to." But by the time Saturday rolled around, I would be very much at camp, taking the group for one last unscheduled run, remaining to the very end, and wishing it didn't have to.

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Last night, I learned that Jon Obst, one of the best diabetic ultra runners the world has known and my teammate on the original Team Type 1 Running Team, had passed away. For me and for everyone who knew Jon, the news was heartbreaking.

Since I learned about Jon's death, I've been thinking about the stories I knew about him. It would be entirely incorrect to say we were close. Near as I can count, we spent time together on four weekends for races, with a casual Facebook relationship in between and since. But the thing with Jon was, you didn't have to spend much time with him to feel close to him.

Before I begin, I want you to know how good of a runner Jon was. If you look at his results, you'll see that he completed 36 ultra races, finishing 11 of them on the podium. Anyone who has completed a single ultra knows how deep of a well it takes you to compete in such races. Keep in mind, this list doesn't include the races Jon didn't finish and anyone who knows Jon w…

In my basement, I have a safe. And in that safe, under expired passports and birth certificates, there's a gun. It's unloaded. Hasn't been loaded in probably twenty years, and yet every time I take it out, I check to make sure.

If you're a gun nerd, it's a 9 shot .22 revolver. On this website, it says that "it is true that many people have been killed by a .22 LR in the course of history," but the writer concludes that this weapon is a bad choice for self defense.

I didn't buy it for self defense. I didn't even buy it. It was my father's and after he died, my mother gave it me, along with an Elgin watch he'd worn for years. The watch was weathered and worn and I took it to be restored. The jeweler refused, saying it was worthless. Two decades later, the watch is still in my jewelry box. There's no need for it to be locked up.

I have no idea if this gun is in my possession legally. No idea if my father had a permit for it, or what my o…

“And if you ever get scared, look on the bright side:You’ve got a new life.” – Amos Lee
Last month, I was diagnosed with Lyme disease.
Since then, I’ve tried to write this essay a few times.
The first attempt followed a narrative arc rife with
suspense, with a few years of frustrating doctors’ visits, mysterious symptoms
that came and went and the all-around sentiment that the batteries that powered
my body were no longer able to sustain a charge or be fully refueled at the end
of the day.
But if you Google Lyme disease, you realize there’s nothing unique
about that story. In fact, the reality that my own diagnosis came only two years after all of this started makes
this a much shorter story than it is for many.
The theme of the second version was more pitiful, tinged
with regret about what this had taken from me over the past two years and what
it might take in the future. But honestly, that one didn’t get far at all. If
there’s a good time for something like this to happen – and th…